As brightness, into brightness

sun-sunrise-brightness-woman

You can learn only from
moving forward at the rate
you are moved,
as brightness, into brightness

— Sarah Manguso, Two Kinds of Decay


Credits: Photograph – Brown Dress with White Dots. Quote – Mythology of Blue

T.G.I.F.: It’s been a long week

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Source: Animated Gifs

Transfiguration (aka Wow)

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“Photographer Ben Hopper‘s “Transfiguration” project transforms his subjects into living sculptures. Each photo is charged with kinetic energy, only heightened by the bold streaks of body paint and splatters of white powder. Some of the photographs look like cubist paintings because of the contrast between black, white, and human flesh along with the seemingly impossible angles and feats of flexibility performed by the subjects. The body paint looks almost like strokes of charcoal, creating depth while also the illusion of two-dimensionality.”

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Don’t miss 34 other incredible shots here: Transfiguration – Ben Hopper’s Blog


Source: Precious Things 

Lightly child, lightly

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Seven of us, and one dog, are aboard the boat. […] So we become, for the afternoon, sea creatures ourselves. How light our bodies feel as we lounge against the planks and trail our hands in the water. Ahead is the sandy point of our destination, and between us and it not a single apportioning marker but the wide water’s drowsy lap and slide, its abundance and gleam. We stroll on its surface freely, citizens of the water world. How different from the foot on the stone, the hand opening the gate, the gravel path of the garden, the trudge through loose sand, the heel sticking into the clay of the field! Such weight, on the earth, is on our shoulders: gravity keeping us at home. But on the water we shake off the harness of weight; we glide; we are passengers of a sleek ocean bird with its single white wing filled with wind.

~ Mary Oliver, Long Life: Essays and Other Writings


Notes:

  • Image Source: modest-epiphanies.
  • Prior “Lightly child, lightly” Posts? Connect here.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

Walking Cross-Town. On Edges.

NYC-walk-new-york

The mercury tipped 15º F. A veritable heat wave.
It’s 6:20 AM and the train pulls into Grand Central.
I twist in my ear buds and cue up my “Favorites” playlist.
Angus Stone: Bird on a Buffalo.
The herd stampedes out of the station.
Are you the bird? Or the buffalo?

I’m passing commuters on my left. And on my right.
Middle age, my a**. Can’t touch me. I’m sure those are whispers I hear behind me: “Who is that Pro Athlete?”
Another solid night of sleep. Superman. Cape.
I’m out on 48th and heading cross-town.
Cold air shocks Clark Kent. He wobbles, exhales mist, watches it rise and marches on.

My pace has me hitting each “Walk” sign in succession. Dominos falling.
No slowing, no stopping. Batta Bing, Batta Bang.
It’s going to be a good day.

Light wind gusts at my back.
Wind triggers the Old Irish Blessing

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

May the cabs stay on the highway and not plow into me on the curb.
May these brutal Arctic winds stay down.
May the sun warm my cold freezing a**,
And please God, no freezing rain. Please no more. [Read more…]

Paris Awakening

Paris Awakening II | GH4 & SLR Magic 10mm T2.1 from emeric on Vimeo.


Guess.What.Day.It.Is?

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Caleb has taken our very own Val Boyko to Morocco. Love the head gear Val!

Val is a fellow WordPress blogger. Be sure to check out Val’s blog at Find Your Middle Ground.


Freeze, thaw, repeat — the cycle expands in the mind to unbearable infinities

parka-hood-winter-cold

NY Times – The Winter Has Gotten Old:

Then I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone, going home, where the New York City winters aren’t bleeding me.” So goes the Simon and Garfunkel song, buried deep in the memory, an oldie that seems to have been around for as long as this old winter has.

And long it has been. Long stretches of painfully frigid weather, brief respites, then more snow, ice and freezing rain. Freeze, thaw, repeat — the cycle xpands in the mind to unbearable infinities, the unyielding sensation of being trapped.

But check the calendar: This week means we are officially in late February, which means March. March means daffodils, which means this all must eventually end.

Until then, we wait, battered and diminished. Winter shrinks the vision, narrows it to the limits of a parka hood. It numbs the heart, dulls the reflexes of graciousness and gratitude as people’s behavior on sidewalks and train platforms shifts to self-preservation. It bends the neck, as the eyes scan for ice, gauging the leapability of slush puddles and the danger of left-turning, nonyielding cabs. Is that filthy, black-edged snowbank crusty enough to slip on, or soft enough to sink into? Will I break my ankle or just soak it? Should I give up now, and die right here? It’s windy. It hurts. I can’t go on.

I’ll go on…

Do be sure to go on.  Read the rest here: ~ The Winter Has Gotten Old


Thank you Susan

Tie (60 sec)


I did the rough math this morning.
The tally:
Each morning on most working days,
and a number of evenings out,
aggregates to tying a neck tie 7,000 times.
7,000 times!
The ritual is never preceded with a telephone chit chat.
Never with a high ball.
NEVER with a five o’clock shadow.
And certainly never with the Lumineers crooning Morning Song in the backdrop.
What the h*ll am I doing wrong? :)


 

One of life’s most exquisite moments

coffee-winter-cold

People can’t agree on where coffee’s secret lies: opinions range from the smell, the color, the taste, the  consistency, the blend, the cardamom, the roast, to the shape of the cup and a  number of other things. For me, it’s the timing. The great thing about a perfectly   timed cup of coffee is that it’s in your hand the instant you crave it. One of life’s most exquisite moments is that in which a small luxury becomes a necessity.

Mourid Barghouti, from I Was Born There, I Was Born Here


Credits: Photo from Your Eyes Blaze Out. Poem via The Journey of Words